This was my first experience
of ballet in the cinema and, I suspect, an excellent starting-point. Indeed,
though an in-the-theatre experience will always be different, more immediate,
for all the problems that can entail too, this live cinema relay seemed to me
to possess advantages over the unmediated version too – far more so, indeed,
than my two viewings to date of opera in the cinema (Götterdämmerung
and The
Tempest, both from New York). Though one would think that this would
apply to opera and ballet alike, and maybe it does more generally, close ups,
at least as much of the dancers’ visual expressions as anything else, seemed
far more telling here than in either of those operatic experiences. Perhaps
that was as much testament to the excellence of the principals as to the form
itself, but the greater depth of characterisation afforded was much appreciated.

Peter Wright’s venerable, yet
far from tired, 1984 production was also doubtless an excellent choice. The
curmudgeon in me might ask whether there is not room for a more ‘adult’,
disturbingly Freudian version, yet Wright’s often magical evocation certainly
does not preclude one thinking and exploring such thoughts for oneself. Just as
in opera, the better productions open up possibilities, have one pose
questions, rather than attempt to answer them all for themselves. ETA Hoffmann
remains, then, for those willing to be more than passive spectators, whilst
there is much spectacle – though far from empty spectacle – as anyone other
than the most vulgar could desire. Childhood memories of Christmas, and/or
memories of childhood Christmas, come together in the party, splendidly
portrayed by all concerned, and there is a proper sense of broadening of focus
following the interval.

The dancers all seem enlivened,
liberated even, by the opportunities Wright’s production offers. Gary Avis’s
Drosselmeyer appeared as a duly ambiguous figure: manipulative, yet to what
end? Francesca Hayward offered a graceful Clara, her Hans Peter, Alexander
Campbell, perhaps still more impressive: boyish, yet with admirable strength.
Likewise Laura Morera and Federico Bonelli both impressed, whether in solo or
partner work, as the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Prince. Perhaps I might have
wished for a little more delight in Morera’s response to the score, but there could
be no doubting the technique.

It was, moreover, a merciful
relief to attend a performance that went uninterrupted by the behaviour of
small children (or rather, by the inability or unwillingness of their parents
to restrain that behaviour). Interruption, such as it was, came only from the
applause on screen; how I wish here, just as in opera, people would refrain
until the end of an act! Tchaikovsky’s score no more deserves such response
than his Fifth Symphony does. Tom Seligman offered a well-shaped, commendably
incisive traversal of the score. My sole reservation was, alas, that which I have
almost always felt upon visits to the ballet, namely, regret that a more substantial
orchestra had not been employed. Though this was the Orchestra of the Royal
Opera House, the string sound was often emaciated; the score needs just as much
attention in this respect as does that for Eugene
Onegin. Still, wind and percussion often sounded magical, imparting a
quickening spirit to the moment of the narrative and to the longer durée. For the most part, then, an
enchanting evening, and via the cinema, an evening to be enjoyed by many more
than would otherwise have been the case.